Page 62 of The Beast of Beswick
“It’s a ball.”
“Isobel will be there,” she said.
“I know,” he said. “Which is why I’m asking Sir Thornton to attend. His wife, Lady Claudia, is the daughter of an earl. She’s as boisterous as you are. You should rub along famously.” He frowned but couldn’t quite suppress his amusement. “On second thought, perhaps that’s not the best idea.”
“What if I begged you to come?” she asked quietly.
His fingers clenched on the reins. “I won’t, Astrid. I vowed never to subject myself to their scorn. Thetonturned its collective back on me while I was out fighting for their freedoms, for their way of life. And all they see is the Beast of Beswick.” He was getting so agitated that even Goliath nickered softly. “A nightmare of a thing.”
“You’re not a nightmare, and you haven’t let any of them get to know you. You’ve closed yourself off. You’ve turned your back on them before they can do it to you.”
Thane didn’t argue her logic because it was true. He sucked in a breath as they pulled to a stop in front of Harte House. Several passersby paused to point and stare, proving his point that he would be nothing more than a lurid curiosity. “Regardless, Astrid, I cannot. I will not.”
“Not even for me?”
Thane set his jaw. “Not even for the Prince Regent himself.”
…
Alice put the finishing touches on Astrid’s cheeks— a smudge of silver dust along the crests of her cheekbones—and the barest hint of rouge on her lips. Silver dust was sprinkled liberally on her eyelashes and in her hair, which hung in thick curls down her back, a diadem of diamonds clipped to her crown. As agreed with Isobel, she tucked a bright-red rosebud behind one ear.
Astrid could scarcely recognize herself in the looking glass. The dress that had been delivered as promised by Silvie was truly outlandish. And gorgeous. It seemed even more diaphanous than before and exposed a scandalous amount of décolletage. Astrid was certain that the fairy queen would have gotten herself into a dangerous amount of trouble if this had truly been her ensemble of choice. Then again, many of the artists who tried to immortalizeA Midsummer Night’s Dreamhad painted Titania as naked.
Small mercies.
Astrid tied the mask in place. Well, at least she would be incognito even if her dress was at most a strategic placement of chiffon, satin, and lace. As she made one last twirl in front of the mirror, she felt a twinge of disappointment that Beswick would not be attending. Perhaps she should find him before she left. There was a good chance he would not want her going anywhere alone in this dress. Then again, he had been adamant that even the Prince Regent could not sway him, much lessher.
She’d felt hurt, but she’d tucked it away where it couldn’t do her harm.
He would never change, not even for her.
When Astrid went downstairs, Aunt Mabel, with a glass of sherry in hand, was dressed in a Cleopatra costume, complete with eyes ringed in kohl, arm bracelets, and a costume that hugged every one of her considerable curves. Astrid would bet money on the fact that Aunt Mabel intended to break a few hearts tonight.
“Lord Oberon is not going to like that,” the duchess predicted with a laugh.
Astrid’s lips twisted down. “Beswick would not care if I were Lady Godiva riding naked through the streets of Coventry.”
Aunt Mabel shot her an incredulous look but then laughed in delight. “Now, why didn’t I think to do that? Next year for sure!”
Though the journey to Grosvenor Square was quick, Astrid was sweating when she arrived. She was going to see Isobel. Unlike most balls, there were no announcements of formal names—only masquerade titles made up at the whim of the host. In this case, an already foxed Marquess of Featheringstoke who was dressed as Poseidon, if his trident was any indication. The fumes on his breath could start an inferno.
“Who might you be, beautiful lady?” he slurred. “Persephone? No, Venus!”
“Queen Titania,” Mabel said, poking the marquess in the side. “And Cleopatra.”
His eyes widened with recognition. “Mabel, is that you?” He blinked and swayed. “I must say, I heard a devil of a rumor about some rushed nuptials. So if it is you, this young vixen must be the new—”
“Don’t say it,” Mabel warned. “Or other secrets will come to light that you will not like,Feathers.”
Astrid almost giggled at how sober he became upon hearing the nickname, with an askance glance to his wife, who was dressed in what looked like a siren’s costume. Either that or someone had spewed copious amounts of seaweed all over her ample breasts.
“Of course,” Poseidon murmured with a smart bow that was ruined by a loud belch. “Away then and be merry.”
They descended the staircase together, and Astrid searched the crowded ballroom for Isobel, but she saw no one else with white roses tucked into her coiffure. Had she decided not to come after all? Had Aunt Mildred or Uncle Reginald forbidden her to attend? Astrid’s heart sank, though it was still early yet. She followed Mabel toward the far end of the room where a few of her acquaintances stood.
As luck would have it, Astrid was free to look for Isobel once introductions were made with Mabel’s set. She was more than aware of a few probing glances from the duchess’s friends, as if they sought to place her. No one would remember a scandal from a decade ago, would they? But of course, she was not so lucky.
“You were engaged to Beaumont,” a rotund lady dressed like a bee—Lady Bevins, a notorious busybody—pronounced in a stage whisper. “Everleigh or some such.”
